Rhaegar
The king was dressed warm particularly that day. He was garbed in heavy quilted breeches and a woolen doublet, and over it all he had thrown the heavy black samite cloak.
He was glad that he had dressed warmly. The chill in the long dank vault went bone deep. They were somewhere under the hill of Rhaenys, behind the Guildhall of the Alchemists. The damp stone walls were splotchy with nitre, and the only light came from the sealed iron-and-glass oil lamp that Hallyne the Pyromancer carried so gingerly.
Gingerly indeed . . . and these would be the ginger jars. Rhaegar lifted one for inspection. It was round and ruddy, a fat glass jar glowing green inside. It fit comfortably in his grip with no hint of slippery. The vessel was thin, so fragile that he had been warned not to squeeze too tightly, lest he crush it in his fist. The glass felt roughened, pebbled. Hallyne told him that was intentional. "A smooth pot is more apt to slip from a man's grasp."
The wildfire oozed slowly inside the jar when Rhaegar tilted the vessel in his hand. The color was a bright green, so bright that it glowed inside the jar. "It is thick," he said.
"That is from the cold, Your Grace," said Hallyne, a pallid man with soft damp hands and an obsequious manner. He was dressed in striped black-and-scarlet robes trimmed with sable, but the fur looked more than a little patchy and moth-eaten. "As it warms, the substance will flow more easily, like lamp oil."
The substance was the pyromancers' own term for wildfire. They called each other wisdom as well, which Rhaegar found almost as annoying as their custom of hinting at the vast secret stores of knowledge that they wanted him to think they possessed. His father had been so fond of the wildfire and the pyromancers alike. He went so far as to keep a favorite one to burn people and had even made him as his hand. He was so obsessed with wildfire to even meet his end with it. Once the alchemist's guild had been a powerful one, but in recent centuries the maesters of the Citadel had supplanted the alchemists almost everywhere. Now only a few of the older order remained, and they no longer even pretended to transmute metals . . .
. . . but they could make wildfire. "Water will not quench it, I am told."
"That is so. Once it takes fire, the substance will burn fiercely until it is no more. More, it will seep into cloth, wood, leather, even steel, so they take fire as well."
"Why doesn't it seep into the glass then?"
"Oh, but it does," said Hallyne. "There is a vault below this one where we store the older pots. Those from your father's day. It was his fancy to have the jars made in the shapes of fruits. Very perilous fruits indeed, Your Grace, and, hmmm, riper now than ever, if you take my meaning. We have sealed them with wax and pumped the lower vault full of water, but even so . . . by rights they ought to have been destroyed, but we have very little masters who can make wildfire of such quality, the few acolytes who now remain are unequal to the task. And much of the stock we made for King Aerys was lost. Only last year, two hundred jars were discovered in a storeroom beneath the Great Sept of Baelor. No one could recall how they came there, but I'm sure I do not need to tell you that the High Septon was beside himself with terror. I myself saw that they were safely moved. I had a cart filled with sand, and sent our most able acolytes. We worked only by night, we—"
"—did a splendid job, I have no doubt." Rhaegar placed the jar he'd been holding back among its fellows. They covered the table, standing in orderly rows of four and marching away into the subterranean dimness. And there were other tables beyond, many other tables. He knew how those jars came to be there. His father had ordered his ever faithful servants to blow up the city rather than to surrender it to him. Only by the efforts of Ser Jaime the whole thing was spared and Rhaegar had tasked Ser Jaime to find and eliminate all the pyromancers Rossart had placed throughout the city. They had removed most of the wildfire caches his father's Hand had hid in various parts of the city. It seems as if I still have to search more for the wildfire hidden in his city.
"These, ah, fruits of my father, can they still be used?"
"Oh, yes, most certainly . . . but carefully, my king, ever so carefully. As it ages, the substance grows ever more, hmmmm, fickle, let us say. Any flame will set it afire. Any spark. Too much heat and jars will blaze up of their own accord. It is not wise to let them sit in sunlight, even for a short time. Once the fire begins within, the heat causes the substance to expand violently, and the jars shortly fly to pieces. If other jars should happen to be stored in the same vicinity, those go up as well, and so—"
"How many jars do you have at present?"
"This morning the Wisdom Munciter told me that we had seven thousand eight hundred and forty. That count includes four thousand jars from King Aerys's day, to be sure."
"Our overripe fruits?"
Hallyne bobbed his head. "Wisdom Malliard believes we shall be able to provide a full ten thousand jars, as we promised. I concur." The pyromancer looked indecently pleased with that prospect.
Assuming our enemies give you the time. The pyromancers kept their recipe for wildfire a closely guarded secret, but Rhaegar knew that it was a lengthy, dangerous, and time-consuming process. He had assumed the promise of ten thousand jars was a wild boast, like that of the bannerman who vows to marshal ten thousand swords for his lord and shows up on the day of battle with a hundred and two. If they can truly give us ten thousand and with the dragons. . .
He did not know whether he ought to be delighted or terrified. He was not his father to burn people alive. "I trust that your guild brothers are not engaging in any unseemly haste, Wisdom. We do not want ten thousand jars of defective wildfire, nor even one . . . and we most certainly do not want any mishaps. If I ever hear about any wildfire accidents in the city, I'll know where to look at."
"There will be no mishaps, your Grace. The substance is prepared by trained acolytes in a series of bare stone cells, and each jar is removed by an apprentice and carried down here the instant it is ready. Above each work cell is a room filled entirely with sand. A protective spell has been laid on the floors, hmmm, most powerful. Any fire in the cell below causes the floors to fall away, and the sand smothers the blaze at once."
"Not to mention the careless acolyte," Bezzaro told from his side.
"My brethren are never careless," Hallyne insisted. "If I may be, hmmmm, frank . . . "
"Oh, do," Rhaegar said.
"The substance flows through my veins, and lives in the heart of every pyromancer. We respect its power. But the common soldier, hmmmm, the crew of one of the spitfires, say, in the unthinking frenzy of battle . . . any little mistake can bring catastrophe. That cannot be said too often. My father often told King Aerys as much, as his father told old King Jaehaerys."
"At least Jaehaerys listened," Rhaegar said. "My father did try to burn down the city. So your counsel is that we had best be careful? "
"Be very careful," said Hallyne. "Be very very careful."
"We will," Rhaegar told him. They are Targaryens, fire never harmed them no more than their dragons did.
He turned away from Hallyne. "I've seen enough. Perhaps you would be so good as to escort me back up."
"It would be my great, hmmm, pleasure, your grace." Hallyne lifted the lamp and led the way back to the stairs. "It was good of you to visit us. A great honor, hmmm. It has been too long since a King graced us with his presence. Not since your royal father. King Aerys took a great interest in our work."
My royal father used you to roast the flesh off his enemies. He had no more interest in you than a slave master has in his pitfighters. "I am as interested in your work as my father was. Perhaps we will even have a place for your order in the Prince's wedding feast ." At least then I can make sure that you don't burn down the city at my son's wedding.
"A most, hmmm, loving gesture, Your Grace. Perhaps a small demonstration of our powers, as it were, to celebrate Prince Aegon's wedding. Wildfire is but one of the dread secrets of our ancient order. Many and wondrous are the things we might show you."
"You shall do it." Rhaegar had no objection to a few magic tricks and if something was to go wrong and some of you had to die it will make it all the more better. At least he could rest easy knowing that they won't burn down his city.
The Guildhall of the Alchemists was an imposing warren of black stone, but Hallyne led him through the twists and turns until they reached the Gallery of the Iron Torches, a long echoing chamber where columns of green fire danced around black metal columns twenty feet tall. Ghostly flames shimmered off the polished black marble of the walls and floor and bathed the hall in an emerald radiance. Rhaegar would have been more impressed if he hadn't known that the great iron torches had only been lit this morning in honor of his visit, and would be extinguished the instant the doors closed behind him. Wildfire was too costly to squander.
They emerged atop the broad curving steps that fronted on the Street of the Sisters, near the foot of Visenya's Hill. He bid Hallyne farewell and walked with Bezzaro down to where Ser Gerold Hightower waited with his escort.
Rhaegar was surprised to see Ser Barristan standing with Ser Gerold. He had left Barristan Selmy back at the Red Keep. "What are you doing here, Ser Barristan?"
"Delivering your messages, Your Grace," Ser Barristan said. "Lord Varys came begging for immediate audience with you. He says it is urgent."
Varys? He was confused at first but then it striked him. "If it is so urgent I'd best see him then."
They set a quick pace for the Red Keep. The city was clean and in a good position considering his son's wedding is nearing. With the wedding in mind Rhaegar could not help but also to think about the talks of rebellion. He knew Robert never held any love for him and Jon Arryn was not so happy with the things happened with the north. He had always suspected them of plotting against him and with Robert's son marrying Lord Arryn's daughter it only strengthened his doubts. He need to be ready to meet them in war if it was necessary. He had no love for the alchemists' piss but he had to use it. And the wildfire could also be used in the Great War too. He had to be careful with them though. With Hallyne's talk about his father's overripe fruits all he could think of about was the wildfires stashes of his father still remaining unfounded. Another headache and he had to thank his father for this. He had to do it all alone now that Ser Jaime is not here to help him and had to do it without alarming the people. He already had enough problems all around him and his family and the last thing he needs is some riot inside the city while his enemies stirred for war outside.
The people stood by and watched as their column passed. Some were quick to bow their heads down as soon as they saw him but most just stood by and watched him pass with wide eyes. He saw a girl running after a cat, chasing it through the streets. The sight almost brought smile to his lips. He never knew how he did it but he found himself remembering another girl and a cat. Balerion had been the cat's name and he had gifted it to her. It hurt so much to think about it. Rhaegar shook the thoughts away. He had an important work to do and it will do no good to dwell on the past.
They reached the Red Keep shortly and Rhaegar left for his solar at once with his kingsguard in tow. He found Varys waiting for him in his solar. The eunuch was dressed in violet robes of silk and velvet.
"Your Grace, I brought some delighting news." he gushed, a soft eunuch's smile on his powdered face.
The words somewhat made him happy after the sad memory from the past. Rhaegar turned to Ser Gerold Hightower. "Bring me Janos Slynt," he told him. "At once."
Janos Slynt met them at his solar, armored in ornate gold plate, with a high-crested helm under one arm. The Commander bowed stiffly. "Your Grace."
"I have a work for you, Commander Slynt," Rhaegar told him. "Do it for me and there will be a lordship waiting for you in your return."
There was a slight smile in the frog face of the lord commander of the city watch and Rhaegar knew it was done. "I am yours to command, Your Grace," Slynt said. "When should I leave."
"At once." Yes, he knew. The sooner this is done the better.